A Bad Dream Ends
by velja
Summary: Written before the Thanksgiving dinner. Nathan knows what he has to do now that he knows the truth. He's gonna fix it. That's what everybody's counting on, right? Or maybe... could someone else fix things for him this once? STARTS ANGSTY BUT ENDS HAPPY.
1. Chapter 1

**A Bad Dream Ends (1/2)**

By velja

**Characters:** Nathan, Peter and Angela Petrelli (and two surprise guests)

**Rating:** PG-13

**Genre:** Angst, Drama

**Summary: Nathan knows what he has to do now that he's found out the truth. He's gonna fix it for everybody. That's what he always does, isn't it? That's what everybody's counting on after all. He's gonna fix everything.**

Follows Episode 4x10 "Brother's Keeper" up to the tiny spoiler of next episode's Thanksgiving dinner. This is what I'd wish to happen though I know it won't.

**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to NBC and Tim Kring and are used for entertainment purposes only. Some words were taken directly from the show. Also, the song used in here is "A Bad Dream" and belongs to Keane.

* * *

He woke up, not sure for a moment where he was.

Again.

But this time it was different. After he'd blinked the sleep from his eyes to take in his surroundings Nathan recognized the crisp white linens his body was nestled in. He also recognized the smell of them as coming from his own bedcovers. This was his bed, at home.

Home.

He'd slept in his own bed and not in some stranger's caravan in the middle of nowhere with no memory of how he'd gotten there in the first place.

He was home.

A quick glance at the clock confirmed: It was high time to drag his ass out of bed and get ready for another day at the office. A Senator's day at a Senator's office.

Nathan flung away the covers and sat up. He scooted over to the edge of the bed and then… suddenly the memories of yesterday's events came floating to the forefront of his conscious mind.

He remembered.

He saw himself sitting at the small camping table, about the only furniture in Peter's bare apartment these days. Peter was leaning against the doorframe.

The echo of Nathan's own words reverberated in his ears:

"_To the rest of the world I'm Nathan Petrelli, Pete. But every time you look at me, the way you're looking at me right now, you're gonna see Sylar. Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me I'm wrong, Pete."_

Nathan blinked and the memory disappeared.

Peter had done just that, he'd told him that he was wrong.

Over and over.

And yet… Nathan had seen the truth in his brother's eyes. No matter how hard Peter had tried to convince him, no matter how passionately he'd spoken the words…

"You're wrong. I see **you**, Nathan. My big brother. And I love you. Nothing's ever gonna change that. We'll find a way to make Sylar disappear for good. We'll find a way, Nathan. Trust me."

Trust me…

Nathan had no idea how often Peter had repeated those words. Like a mantra he'd said them over and over again, until Nathan had finally started believing.

Hoping.

There in Peter's apartment, in the dark of the night, Nathan had eventually allowed himself to taste a sliver of hope.

But now…

Now the harsh light of a new day was quickly chasing away that tiny spark of hope. It was instantly squashed under the new dawn's foot like a bug and all that remained now was God's honest truth.

Nathan Petrelli was dead.

Peter knew it, their mother knew it, and Nathan himself knew it, too. As strange as it sounded, he knew it.

He was dead.

And this time there was no hope for an easy fix.

He couldn't just make some calls, call in some favors…

No matter how good his connections were as a Senator of the United States, they'd never be good enough for this. And no matter how many extraordinary people with different abilities he knew, none of them would ever be powerful enough to fix this.

You couldn't fix something like this.

You just couldn't.

All his connections… they were worth nothing.

So… Nathan let out a sigh and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again he took a closer look around.

This was his bedroom, his home, and yet...

It wasn't.

He didn't belong here.

Not any more.

Not when he could feel Sylar's presence in the back of his mind like a spider lurking on the edge of its net, waiting for bugs and flies to get caught in the sticky strings.

Like a vicious animal, waiting for its innocent prey.

Nathan could feel him. Lurking, biding his time, waiting for the right moment to come forth and strike.

Strike down his victims. Enemies or innocent bystanders, it wouldn't matter to him, Nathan knew that.

He knew Sylar would eventually break free, he'd take control.

And Nathan had no intention of watching it happen.

He knew what he had to do.

* * *

_I'm gonna fix it, I'm gonna try._

_I'm gonna do it for everybody._

_Peter, my mom, for Claire._

_I'm gonna fix it all, I make it all…_

_

* * *

  
_

He'd made it through the week, just barely.

It had been a week from hell. A constant battle of wills, a fight Nathan knew he'd lose eventually.

Soon.

But first… he had to do this first.

Nathan had no idea from where Peter had dug out the two yellow candles that were currently placed on the camping table. He'd probably bought them only for this occasion. Or perhaps their mother had brought them as her contribution to tonight's Thanksgiving dinner.

Although she'd brought the pie as well.

Well, wherever the candles had come from, their soft light added an illusion of warmth to the spartan room that Nathan couldn't feel.

Despite the fairly generous weather outside and the nice temperature in the apartment Nathan felt completely cold on the inside.

Cold and… clear-headed.

Nathan nearly had to smile when he contemplated that particular phrasing. Clear-headed… over the last few days that word had gotten a completely new meaning for him. He threw a quick glance to Peter on the other side of the table before he occupied his mouth with taking a small sip of water.

No wine for him tonight, at least not yet.

Well, not that his mother would willingly let him have some anyway. She hadn't tolerated him drinking any kind of alcohol ever since he'd successfully finished the program. A program he'd been in dire need of after his downward spiral of drunken wallowing two years ago. Since then she'd never offered him a drink and she would surely not break her routine tonight.

Not when she knew precisely what losing control would mean for him.

But Nathan had decided that tonight he wouldn't give a damn. He would have his glass of wine, that much he deserved at last. He would allow himself to loosen up, even if that meant he'd lose control over…

Over what – or who - he'd been fighting for the last few days. It wouldn't matter anymore. Later, when dinner was over, nothing would matter anymore.

But right now he had to stay focused. He had to keep on fighting just a little bit longer.

Just long enough to make the people who meant the most to him understand.

Just long enough to say goodbye.

* * *

_I'll wake up, it's a bad dream_

_No one on my side_

_I was fighting but I just feel too tired_

_To be fighting,_

_Guess I'm not the fighting kind_

_

* * *

  
_

They'd made it through most of the dinner without incident. Nothing strange had happened although Nathan had felt a small tug in the back of his head, in his mind, from time to time. But he'd forced it away again. Every time he'd successfully fought it, him, and for now Nathan still had the upper hand. He was still in control.

But it was getting harder with every minute the dinner lasted.

Nathan took a quick sip from his glass again. The chilly water ran down his throat and Nathan was thankful for it. It eased the burning sensation that had started to settle there like a big lump.

He'd felt cold before. Now he could feel his palms starting to sweat and he quickly wiped them on the napkin.

The time had come.

The tug in the back of his mind grew stronger but Nathan forced it back once more. He wouldn't let the bastard win, not yet. Nathan took a calming breath.

"Ma," he started and took hold of his mother's hand on the table, "sit down. There's something I need to say and I'd like to do it before you start serving the pie."

Angela looked at her eldest and placed the carving knife back onto the table. She gave Nathan's hand a quick squeeze and motioned for him to continue.

"I thought we were already done with the 'Saying Thanks'," Peter smirked from across the table. "What else do you feel the need to be thankful for tonight, Nathan?"

"This. You," Nathan smiled and put his other hand across the table. Peter took it without hesitation though a frown crept onto his face. He noticed Nathan's smile hadn't reached his eyes, it seemed forced, strained somehow.

"You okay?" he asked concerned.

"I'm fine, Pete," Nathan took another steadying breath. "Right now I'm fine. But you both know that it won't last and I'd like to do this while I still can. While I'm still in control."

"Nathan?" Angela's voice sounded concerned, too. She eyed her son with an unsure smile. "What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about, ma. This is goodbye. I won't be here much longer," Nathan released them both and wiped his hands over his tired face. He closed his eyes for a second and then looked at Peter who was still frowning.

"Pete," Nathan sighed. "Ever since we found out the truth I've been fighting a battle we both know I can't win. Pete, mom," Nathan trained his eyes back on his mother. "I'm dead. He knows it, you know it, and I know it, too."

"Nathan…" No other word made it across Peter's lips. He simply stared at his brother. A strange flickering motion suddenly went over Nathan's face and Peter felt a chill run down his spine when his brother's voice sounded… off somehow.

"Guess again!"

"Oh my God," Angela gasped and stood up. "Sylar's in there with you, isn't he?" Her hand traveled involuntarily to the carving knife next to her but as soon as she'd grabbed it Nathan's hand closed around hers.

"Wait!" Nathan forced out and squeezed her hand. A shudder went through his body and he breathed deeply through his nose. "Not yet, ma. I'm still… I got it, I got him to back down. I'm good."

"I… I don't understand, Nathan!" Angela noticed that the grip around her hand loosened up and she took hold of the knife again. "How did…"

Nathan looked up. It were her son's eyes that fixed her out of her son's face and yet Angela couldn't help but avoid his gaze when he said in her son's voice: "How I found out? Or how Sylar got back inside his own body? What do you mean?"

"Nathan," Peter suddenly stood up from the table. "This isn't the right time…"

"This is exactly the time, Pete. I don't have much more!" Nathan faced his brother and then looked at Angela again. He noticed the carving knife trembled slightly in her hand. It was pointed right at his head, but that was all right. Good, even.

"Ma, it doesn't matter how it happened. It did, and you know what it means. I can feel him getting stronger every minute. I've been fighting him for a week now and… I can't anymore. He's too strong."

"No," Angela gasped and backed away. "Parkman erased every trace of Sylar… he's gone! You're Nathan, you're my son!"

"I'm not! Nathan's dead!" Nathan shouted and slammed both his palms flat onto the tabletop. Tiny blue sparks of electricity shot out from his hands and Nathan stared down in shock. When he looked up again his eyes were different. They were a much darker shade of brown than Nathan's eyes had ever been.

They were Sylar's eyes.

"Now look what you've made me do, Angela!" It was Nathan's voice and yet not. Angela knew it. "The nice tablecloth got burned!"

Two blackened spots had appeared on the tabletop when Nathan pulled away his hands and stood up. He took a few steps towards his mother and saw Peter do the same. The younger man pushed Angela behind his back and faced his brother.

"Nathan, calm down and focus!" he begged.

Nathan stared back at him with a cruel smile. A sudden shudder went through his body and when he focused his eyes on Peter again they were back to their original golden color. They were Nathan's once more.

"Stay back! I'm not done here yet!" Nathan growled and Peter needed a moment to realize that the words weren't meant for him. He saw Nathan take a deep breath before he continued: "Pete, you know I can't hold him off much longer. You have to end this! Kill him, kill him while you still can. I won't fight you but once he's in control no one's gonna be able to do it. Please, Pete!"

Realization dawned on Peter's face. "No! No, Nathan, I can't. There has to be another way. I can't kill you!"

"You have to, Pete!" Nathan urged. Then a sad smile crept onto his face. "I know that this is hard but it's the only way to get rid of Sylar. I'd make it easier on you and shapeshift into him but… If I do that he'd take over and use his powers against you. I won't. I won't fight you. Please, Pete, take the knife and…"

"You can't kill Sylar," Angela spoke up from behind her youngest.

"Sure he can, ma. Pete, just ram the knife into the back of my head and make it stick. You know the spot." Nathan turned around and braced both hands onto the table. He looked like someone ready to be arrested by the police.

Peter gulped but pulled the knife from his mother's outstretched hand. Tears formed behind his eyes when he walked up to his waiting brother.

His brother, he was about to kill his brother.

Nathan turned his head and sent Peter a gentle smile. Their eyes met and unspoken words passed from one man to the other.

'_I love you, Pete. You know that, right?'_

'_I love you too, Nathan. I'm sorry.'_

'_It's alright. It's gonna be over soon. It's alright, Pete!'_

Peter stepped behind Nathan and placed a hand onto his left shoulder. Nathan leaned into the touch for a second before he turned his head forward again. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

"Peter, no!" Angela cried and rushed up to her youngest. She closed her hand around Peter's raising the knife and forced his movement to stop. "You don't understand! This won't change anything, Sylar cannot be killed like this!"

Peter turned his head towards her. "What do you mean, mom?"

"The spot… it's not there anymore. It moved with his shapeshifting powers. He cannot be killed."

"What?" Nathan's head shot around and he fixed his mother with hazel eyes full of doubt.

"Sylar can't be killed. Your sacrifice won't mean anything, Nathan. He'd win and take over completely. You have to keep fighting him." Angela pulled the knife from Peter's hand and let it clatter to the ground. She placed one hand on Nathan's back and forced him to turn around. Her other arm sneaked around Peter's back and the three Petrellis stood motionless for a second.

"I need you to keep fighting, Nathan." Angela repeated with a sad smile.

"But how long, ma? I can't… he's…" Nathan closed his eyes in despair. He couldn't do this, could he? He couldn't keep fighting Sylar for the rest of his life!

A life that didn't rightly belong to him to begin with. He was dead already! Didn't she see that? How could his mother expect him to fight the bastard? How strong did she think he was?

"You can and you will, Nathan!" Angela's voice was firm and yet gentle. Determined.

"How, ma?" Nathan's voice was pleading. "How do you expect me to live like this? I can barely hold it together now! I can't focus all the time and the second I let my guard down he'll be there. He'll take over the minute I slip!"

"You won't slip, Nathan. I won't let you," Peter squeezed his brother's shoulder and pulled him into a close embrace. "I'll be there by your side every step of the way if I have to. I will remind you what it is you're fighting for every minute of every day for the rest of our lives. I won't let you slip!"

"You can't, Pete!" Nathan gulped around the big lump in his throat and let go of his mother to return Peter's embrace. The two brother's clung to each other desperately. "You'll fail and you'll get killed. I won't put your life in danger, not again."

"I can't die, Nathan!" Peter mumbled into Nathan's shoulder and focused. He felt his power reach out and then a shock went through both their bodies.

"What did you do?" Nathan asked and pulled away slightly. He stared into his brother's face.

"I took Sylar's healing power. Now I'm able to regenerate again. You won't get me killed, Nathan."

The two brother's stared silently into each other eyes. None of them had noticed Angela walking away from the table and up to the front door of Peter's apartment. Only the sound of the door being opened made them finally look up.

Without a word the Haitian stepped over the threshold and right behind him, barely visible behind the tall man, a small form followed silently. Angela gave the Haitian a nod and then took hold of the young boy's shoulder with a smile.

The child smiled briefly up at her before it took a few steps further inside. The boy turned to Peter and Nathan and his eyes focused on Nathan.

"Daddy!"

"Simon!" Nathan gasped and his eyes traveled from his son's serious face to his mother's smiling one. "What are you…? How…?"

This was Simon! His son! What was he doing here?

Nathan stared at his son, every gear in his head turning a million times per second. "What's going on here?"

When nobody provided an answer Nathan let his eyes travel towards the only woman in the room and fixed her with a stern glare.

"Ma?"

* * *

**TBC...**

... as soon as I know how it's gonna end. There are two directions in my head and I have to decide on which one to take. Please don't be shy with suggestions on how you want me to let this end. Review please.


	2. Chapter 2

**A Bad Dream Ends (2/2)**

_Okay, I've decided on the completely unrealistic but happy (sappy) ending. Maybe I'm gonna write the other one as well some day, the one where Nathan dies in the end. But I guess not._

_For disclaimers and everything see part one. Misspellings and grammar faults are all mine, sorry for that. I needed to post this straight away or else I'd change my mind again._

_

* * *

_

**Part Two**

_The day before the Thanksgiving Dinner_

Angela Petrelli looked up from the stack of papers on her desk when she heard the door to her study being opened. Her brown eyes grew a fraction and frown lines appeared on her face.

"Simon," she greeted the small boy in a voice that betrayed the surprise she was feeling at her grandson's entrance. She hadn't seen the eleven-year-old in months. "What a nice surprise!"

Simon didn't reply, he just stopped in the middle of the room with a serious expression on his face. Far too serious for a child his age.

Angela felt something inside her stomach lurch, a special kind of unease that she'd come across often lately. It was the same feeling she'd get these days whenever she'd look at Nathan.

Nathan who wasn't really himself anymore. Her son was dead.

Angela squashed the feeling and concentrated on the young boy in front of her. Simon was still just standing there, motionless and silent.

"Come give your grandmother a hug, Simon!" Angela stood up and walked around her desk until she'd reached the small boy. She crouched down and opened her arms to welcome him.

Simon didn't move, he just kept on eyeing her seriously.

A chill ran down Angela's back and she quickly stood up again. Quickly playing over her disappointment and growing unease she ruffled the dark hair on her grandson's head.

"Where's your mother? I have to scold her for visiting unannounced." She threw a glance back to the door, expecting Heidi to appear in the halls. "If I'd known you'd all come to celebrate the Holiday in New York I would have…"

"We didn't," Simon spoke for the first time. He shook his head just once. "I'm alone. Mommy doesn't know I'm here."

"What?" Angela stared at the boy in shock. "You're telling me that you came here all by yourself? Don't be ridiculous, Simon!"

"I did," Simon's voice was quiet and he looked at her defiantly. Angela couldn't help but notice how much he looked like his father this instant and she immediately wondered if he'd maybe inherited more than just Nathan's looks.

How did the boy get here? And, more importantly, why?

Angela crouched down again and took hold of Simon's shoulders. She stared into his hazel eyes, so much like Nathan's, and squeezed his small form to stop her hands from trembling.

"Simon, tell me what is going on. Has something happened to you? No matter what it is, you can tell me."

"I know," the boy replied in the same quiet voice than before. "I know that you'll… you're not like… I thought about telling mom but I knew she wouldn't believe me. And she gets annoyed and sad whenever I talk about dad anyway, so…" Simon broke off and shrugged. He cast his eyes downwards for a second and when he looked up again there were tears shining in them. "And Monty's still a kid, he doesn't get it." For the first time Simon's voice carried some kind of emotion. "He laughed at me when I told him…"

"Told him what, Simon?" Angela steered the boy towards the plush couch and sat down beside him. "What is going on?"

"It's dad," Simon looked down onto his lap and started tugging at a loose threat on his blazer. Angela noticed only now that the boy was still wearing his school uniform; he must have come here straight after school yesterday. Heidi was probably sick from worry by now. She needed to call her, tell her that Simon was here…

But first, Angela thought and took hold of her grandson's chin to make him look at her, first she needed to know what the boy was talking about. "Simon…" she urged.

"Something's wrong with dad, grandma. He's… I don't know. Something's wrong." Simon's voice sounded frightened and yet serious. "Dad called a few days ago and… well, I only talked to him a few minutes but… I know that something's wrong with him."

"Why," Angela frowned, "what did he say to you?"

"Oh, the usual," Simon waved off. "He said that he missed us and that he was sorry he couldn't be with us more often. And that I should take care of mom and Monty, especially of Monty. Like he'd taken care of Uncle Peter when they were kids. And that he loved us and was proud of us…" Simon stopped the nervous tugging on his clothes and focused on Angela.

"He said nothing he didn't tell me before. But it wasn't what he said, grandma. It was how he said it that made me look into… Grandma, I looked into his head and there's something wrong."

"You looked into his head?" Angela tried to process the child's words. "How…"

"I don't know, I just… look," Simon shrugged helplessly. "I've never done it with someone not standing right in front of me. It was weird, over the phone. And yet… I saw that there's something wrong with dad, something's there that… something's wrong, grandma. Please, you have to believe me!"

Angela stared at the boy for a second, not sure what to say. It seemed that her suspicions were confirmed, Simon was a true Petrelli. He had an ability.

She pulled the boy into her arms and rested her chin on top of his dark hair. "I believe you, Simon!"

Angela felt the small body relax against her as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. She hugged him more firmly and repeated: "I believe you!"

* * *

_Peter's apartment, Thanksgiving_

"Daddy!"

"Simon!" Nathan gasped and his eyes traveled from his son's serious face to his mother's smiling one. "What are you…? How…?"

This was Simon! His son! What was he doing here?

Nathan stared at his son, every gear in his head turning a million times per second. "What's going on here?"

When nobody provided an answer Nathan let his eyes travel towards the only woman in the room and fixed her with a stern glare.

"Ma?"

"Calm down, Nathan!" Angela took a step closer to him. "He's here to help you."

"Help me?" Nathan repeated and his eyes flickered back to his son. He noticed Simon had grown a great deal since he'd last seen him. The boy's head was now reaching up to Nathan's sternum and he looked all gangly and on the verge of puberty. Nathan figured that in only a few years Simon would be as tall as him.

Not that he'd ever see him grow up all that far. Nathan gulped around the painful realization that suddenly hit him. He'd missed so much in his kids' lives already and now he wouldn't get the chance to see his sons grow into men or even teens.

"How did you think this would help?" Nathan glared at his mother again. "Bringing him here, putting him into danger like that? You know that Sylar's gonna kill you all. Did you think seeing my son would somehow make him stop? That he'd feel all repentant all of a sudden? Newsflash, ma. He's a killer! Nothing's gonna stop him!"

"Dad," Simon spoke up suddenly. He came closer to where Nathan had stopped in his agitated pacing and was now quickly backing away from his son.

"Simon, I'm sorry, champ," Nathan's back hit the wall and he looked down into his son's face that was so much like his own. "I can't… he's gonna hurt you and I won't be able to stop him. Simon, I need you to go back home." Nathan looked at Angela again. "Ma, please, get him out of here. He can't see me like this. Get him out! All of you, get away from me as far as possible!"

"I won't leave you," Peter replied instantly and, to everyone's astonishment, Simon was right there with him when he shook his head and answered: "No, daddy. Please let me help you!"

"NO! GET OUT!" Nathan shouted and Simon backed away as if he'd been slapped.

Never before had his dad shouted at him like that, apart from that one time, after the accident when Uncle Peter had gone missing afterwards. When their dad had been in the hospital and had finally allowed Monty and him to come for a visit… when he'd fallen to the ground, unable to walk, half his face badly scarred and unrecognizable… that had been the only time their dad had lost control and had shouted at them.

Simon had been shocked and hurt then and his mommy had tried to explain afterwards what had made daddy do it. She's said that their dad hadn't been angry at them, but at the world and maybe himself. And that he'd been hurting and hadn't wanted his sons to see him like that. Weak, broken, not the strong father they knew.

That had been the first time Simon had realized that maybe grown-ups weren't as tough and unbreakable as he'd thought. Not even parents. They could become scared, just like kids, only they didn't want anyone to know it. Especially not their kids.

Ever since that day at the hospital Simon had looked at his father differently. He'd stopped seeing the idolized superman his dad had been for him and had started to see the man underneath. Perhaps this strange thing, being able to look into people's heads, which he'd noticed around the same time, had helped Simon realizing the truth, he didn't know.

And it didn't matter anyway.

All that mattered to Simon now was that something was wrong with his dad and that he could help him.

So when the first shock of Nathan's outburst had passed Simon fixed his eyes on his father's face and, taking a deep breath to steady himself, he walked closer until he stood directly in front of him.

"No, dad!" Simon's voice was calm and firm. "I won't go. I know that something's wrong with your head and I can help you. I can fix it!"

"Simon," Peter made a few steps towards father and son but Angela grabbed his arm and shook her head.

"No, Peter, don't." She pulled her youngest away and motioned for the silent Haitian to follow her. The three of them retreated into the kitchen and there, with Peter throwing worried looks back every now and then, Angela started to explain things.

Nathan didn't notice any of it. He could do nothing but stare at his son in front of him, shock and fear visible on his face.

"Let me help you fix it, daddy," Simon whispered again and reached out to take hold of his father's hand. Nathan wanted to back away in fear but once again the wall in his back prevented him from escaping.

He wasn't afraid of his son, quite the contrary. He feared for his son's safety, being left alone with a vicious killer like Sylar.

Though, he suddenly realized, since Simon had shown up Nathan hadn't felt the man inside his head fight him for control over his body as strongly as before.

Sylar was still there, mind you. Lurking in the shadows, biding his time. But his presence wasn't as persistent as before during their dinner, it was as if Sylar somehow got muted.

"What's going on?" the words escaped Nathan's lips against his will. He didn't want to drag his son into any of this; he just wanted him to go, to get out of his range to somewhere safe!

Nathan felt a tug on his hand and looked down. Simon was pulling him down into a crouch and, no matter how much Nathan wanted to resist, he couldn't.

"How are you doing this, Simon?"

"I don't know how, dad. It's just something I can do," the boy replied with a shrug. "Grandma said that I'm special, just like her. And Uncle Peter, too. And you."

"She told you?" Nathan asked with a frown.

"Yeah, she said that you could fly. Is it true, dad?" Simon's eyes brightened up in awe and Nathan was reminded of the fact that he was talking to a child here. His child.

Then he suddenly remembered all the other abilities that he had nowadays. They weren't his, they belonged to the body he'd borrowed. And yet… a part of him wanted to tell his son about it, just to see the too serious eyes childishly brighten up again. A part of him wanted his son to admire him, to be proud of what his dad could do.

"Among other things, yeah," Nathan smiled before he could stop himself. But instead of the expected awe Simon's face grew serious again.

"These other things," his son stated and his voice sounded nearly angry, "they're part of what's wrong with you, right?"

Nathan could only nod, suddenly ashamed of the fact that he'd wanted to impress his son with having Sylar's abilities. He avoided Simon's eyes and looked down instead. Simon's hand released his and Nathan saw him pulling something out of his pocket.

"What's that?"

Simon slowly opened his hand. A black object, nearly as big as the palm of his son's hand, glistened in the candlelight.

"A padlock? What do you have that for, Simon?" Nathan stared from his son's face to the iron padlock and back.

"René gave it to me. He said it's a cat-…" Simon's face scrunched up in a frown and he tried the foreign word again. "It's a 'cat-list' or something like that. I don't know."

"You mean a catalyst?"

"Yeah, he said it would help me picture what to do. But, dad?" Simon looked pleadingly into his father's face. "Don't be mad at me if I hurt you, okay? I don't want to but… I've never done this before and…"

"Done what?" Nathan wanted to know. He looked down to the padlock again. "Simon, come on, what is it you're trying to do here?"

"Fix you," was the boy's simple reply. "René told me how. He said that you have to relax and then I'm gonna look into…"

"Simon,"

"Daddy, please," Simon drew Nathan's attention back to his face. "You need to relax and think good thoughts only. Think of something happy. Something that has nothing to do with the bad man inside your head, please, dad."

"What? How do you…?"

"Shhht!" Simon shushed him and closed his eyes. Then, one hand still holding tightly onto the padlock, he reached out his other hand and placed it flat onto his father's head.

Nathan could feel a pleasant warmth radiating into his forehead and beyond. He closed his eyes and tried to think of something happy, like Simon had asked him to. It wasn't easy but eventually Nathan managed to block out Sylar and instead concentrated on happier thoughts.

An image of Peter and himself immediately came to the front. Years ago they'd stayed one night at the tree house and Peter, no more than thirteen or fourteen years old, had tasted his first shot of scotch then. And he had spit it out right away again, right into Nathan's laughing face.

Another memory followed. Peter, barely eighteen, storming into a hospital room and nearly stumbling over his own feet in his hurry. Nathan had smiled at him from where he'd sat on Heidi's bedside and without a word he'd stood up and had placed a tiny wrinkled baby into Peter's arms. Their eyes had met over the small bundle and Nathan's voice had nearly cracked with emotion when he'd proudly announced: "Pete, meet Simon Petrelli, my son! Your nephew!"

Nathan could feel a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and at the same time he felt heat floating through his head like a bright shining beacon. It traveled through the curves of his brain like a golden cord, sometimes fast while other times it lingered in places just a little bit longer. It left behind a tail, like a shooting star or a comet, burning up but never fading completely.

Nathan felt warm and relaxed and he focused his thoughts on happy images that followed the announcement of his firstborn. Placing Monty into his proud big brother's small arms for the first time, instructing the two-year-old to be very careful with the newborn, then the memory of teaching Simon to ride a bike, Monty's first "Dada!" as well as his first steps, right into his beaming mother's embrace.

The memories were racing through Nathan's head, happy moments in his life he hadn't thought of in years. His two sons were a steady constant in them, as well as Heidi, his parents and of course… Peter.

His little brother appeared again and again in his head, until Nathan thought that there really hadn't been a single happy moment in his life the two of them hadn't experienced together.

They'd shared everything.

Good and… not so good. Recently things had taken a turn for the worse.

But… Nathan tried to steer his thoughts away from that. Simon had said he needed to focus on the good memories and…

Well, he'd have to block out the last year nearly completely in order to do that. Or the last two…

"That's it! I'm done!" Simon's exhausted voice suddenly pulled Nathan out of his thoughts. He opened his eyes, blinked a few times against the sudden brightness…

A brightness shining from Simon's hand somehow. The hand that had held the padlock earlier…

Nathan stared down in shock.

The padlock was nearly gone! It looked as if it had melted and all that remained now was a bright orange lump of glowing metal.

"Simon," Nathan gasped and took hold of his son's hand.

"It's okay, dad. It's not hot at all, just… warm and squishy. Like Jell-O!" Simon beamed down into his father's stunned face.

Nathan looked back up and noticed that the others, Peter, his mom and the Haitian, had all come over again to stand behind Simon. Peter had placed a hand onto his nephew's shoulder and was looking down at him.

"Nathan?" Angela asked hesitantly. "How are you feeling?"

Nathan stood up from his crouched position and could feel the muscles in his legs starting to cramp. How long had this thing taken, whatever it had been Simon had done to him? He didn't know for sure but it felt like hours. He threw a quick glance at the clock on the opposite wall and was astonished to see it had only been a few minutes.

"Nathan?" Angela repeated when he didn't answer right away.

"I'm fine, ma. I feel… fine."

Angela turned to the Haitian. "Il est parti? René? C'est mon fils, oui? Tu ne vois plus un fragment de Sylar dans lui?"

The tall dark man eyed Nathan closely before he turned to Angela again. "Je crois ton petit-fils ça possède un présent de Dieu en particulier. Sylar paraît parti. Ou dormi peut-être."

"What did you two just say?" Peter looked at his mother, not sure he'd understood all of that. His knowledge of French was rusty at best but he'd thought he'd heard something like 'Sylar's gone. Or possibly asleep'. Could that be true? What had Simon done? Was his ability something like what Matt Parkman could do, control other's thoughts? Could his nephew somehow have managed to force Sylar out of that body? Permanently?

Peter walked up to Nathan. He placed both hands onto his brother's shoulders and stared straight into his eyes, not sure what he'd see there.

"Pete," Nathan put his hands on Peter's sides, "it's me!" He let out a relieved laugh and repeated: "It's really me, Pete!"

"Sylar's gone, he's really gone?" Peter couldn't believe it.

"He's…" Nathan broke off and frowned. He felt around inside his head and…

"Oh God, he's still inside. He's… wait," Nathan tried to process what he felt. Or rather, what he saw. "He's… it's like I can see him sitting in the back of my head, locked up behind bars! Like he's in jail or something! How's that possible?"

"In jail, really?" Simon suddenly giggled. "That's what it looks like to you?"

Nathan turned towards his son and crouched down again. "Simon, what the heck just happened? What did you do to me?"

"I don't know how to explain it, dad," the boy replied at once. "It won't make much sense."

"Just try, Simon," Nathan steered his son over to the camping table and sat down. He pulled the boy onto the chair next to him and waited for the others to sit down as well. Solely the Haitian remained standing. Simon looked around nervously. Everybody seemed to stare back at him, waiting for an explanation to come.

"Okay," the boy finally stated. "I, well… I just put a lock on every drawer in your brain that had this other man inside."

"Alright, you know what?" Nathan frowned. "That really doesn't make any sense. At all!"

"See," the young boy pouted, "I told you it wouldn't!"

"No, no, no, not so quick, champ! Let me get this straight," Nathan tilted his head to the side and scratched it. "You're saying that you looked into my head, however that works, and… and what, you saw drawers in there?"

"Every brain looks like that to me. Like a big cupboard with thousands of drawers."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Simon smiled sheepishly and in that instant shrank back to being just a kid. "Dunno why but it just does."

Nathan smiled back. "Well, we can talk about that later. But first… a cupboard with drawers, right?"

When Simon nodded Nathan went on: "So what's inside? I figure it's not socks and underwear, is it?"

"No," Simon let out a quick giggle, "that'd be weird! It's… other stuff!"

"Other stuff? Like… memories?"

"Yeah, some drawers are full of memories. But that's only a small part." Simon thought about how to explain it best and suddenly seemed to get an idea. He grinned at his father and said: "Dad, remember when you took us to this stupid party that one time? You and mom were downstairs with all the other grown-ups and Monty and I had to play with that meany Trevor?"

"You mean the McKinley's party? That's more than three years ago, Simon. You remember that?" Nathan raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Simon glowered darkly, "that was the most boring party ever!" Then his expression lightened up again. "Anyway, remember, we played hide and seek upstairs and Monty and I hid inside this giant dressing room because we didn't want to play with Trevor. You and mom pulled us out of there eventually."

Oh yes, Nathan remembered that night very well. At the end of the party Simon and Monty had been missing and half an hour of frantic searching later they'd found them in the dressing room, playing with the clothes! He'd had to apologize to John McKinley over and over after that because that man had been a client Nathan had had to keep in good graces at that time. That had been before his election to congress, before any of this mess had started.

"I remember," Nathan stated eventually and waited for Simon to elaborate.

"Do you remember the countless shelves and drawers in there, dad? Most of them were full of women's clothes. Beautiful dresses and shoes and underwear and such, tons of that. Much more than mommy has! And then there was this one small part with men's clothes, with suits and socks and…"

"Yeah, I get the picture, Simon," Nathan cut his son short.

"Good. Now imagine the men's clothes in there are the drawers with memories everyone has inside his brain. Then there are still tons of other things, like the women's clothes. Things that are no memories but… I don't know, other stuff. Things you do everyday, like eat and sleep and talk, and other things I don't know what they're for."

Nathan looked at his son in amazement. Despite his young age the kid seemed to possess a true talent for explaining things to people. He himself would never have thought to compare a human brain to a dressing room or even a cupboard. But, he had to admit, it made sense. In a simple and childish way it made absolute sense.

Nathan ruffled his son's dark hair and tried to get the conversation back on topic. "So, when you looked into my brain, what exactly did you see inside my drawers?"

Simon bit his lower lip. "You mean… just now, when I did that thing with the padlock? Or do you wanna know what I saw before?"

"Either, both… I don't know," Nathan shrugged.

"Okay, a few days ago when you called," Simon explained, "I noticed that you were… I don't know how to explain it, dad."

"Tell us what you saw inside his head," Peter tried to help his nephew. "These things inside the drawers, whatever they were, did they look different? Like they belonged to somebody else?"

"What, you mean like Sylar's and my clothes mixed up in one closet?" Nathan frowned. "Like blue socks and red ones in one drawer or something like that?" Okay, that sounded just too weird. Apparently Nathan wasn't nearly as good as his son was in coming up with fitting analogies.

"Yes, let's take the socks!" Simon beamed at him. "There were lots of socks that didn't belong to you between yours. They were all mixed up."

"Simon," Angela addressed her grandchild seriously. "What did you do with the… the socks that didn't belong to your father?" She needed to know what had happened to Sylar. If he was still inside Nathan's head… "You didn't throw them away, did you?"

"I tried but, I couldn't," Simon threw a sad look to his dad. "It was like… they belonged there and not daddy's things. I couldn't throw them out."

"No, I guess you couldn't," Nathan nodded when the truth of his son's words had sunken in. "It's his bo-… his cupboard with drawers after all." He shared a knowing look with Peter before he turned to his son once again. "So, Simon. What did you do?"

"I put everything that didn't belong to you in one drawer at the bottom of the cupboard to make room for your… socks. And I put a lock on that drawer and now you have plenty of space for… you, dad."

Silence settled over the table.

Nathan saw his mother share a look with Peter before she sent him a gentle smile. Peter turned towards him as well, eyes full of amazement and gratitude.

If what Simon had said was true, if he'd truly done that…

He probed around in his head once more. He needed to check again if Sylar was truly locked up and… there he was, held behind sturdy iron bars that nobody would ever be able to melt or break or whatever. Because they weren't real. They existed only inside his head.

Just like Sylar.

From now on this body belonged to Nathan Petrelli, and him alone.

Nathan stood up and without a word fell to his knees in front of Simon. He pulled the boy into his arms and held him tightly. He buried his face in the soft hair and inhaled his son's scent. Tears started to prickle behind Nathan's eyes and his voice nearly cracked when he finally whispered into his son's ear:

"Oh Simon, what you did… thank you! I love you, Simon. I love you so much."

"Love you too, daddy!" Simon gulped and threw his arms around Nathan's neck. "I really missed you!"

"I missed you too, champ!" Nathan held his son at arms' length and tried to smile around the tears running down his cheeks. "But I'll never leave you alone again, okay? We'll work something out so that we can see each other every day. You and me and Monty…"

"And mom, too?" Simon asked hesitantly. "Because, dad. She misses you, even if she doesn't want you to know. She really does."

"You think so?" Nathan raised an eyebrow and stood up again. Deep down he knew that he still loved Heidi, ever would, but things were complicated between them. Maybe too complicated for a second chance.

"I know it," Simon nodded determinedly. "I saw it inside her…"

"Simon, just because you're able to see inside people's heads doesn't give you the right to do it, you know," Angela suddenly advised him sternly and Peter gave him a shocked glare as well. "You know, Simon, she's right. It's rude to invade people's privacy like that and, believe me, sometimes you'll see things you really don't wanna know. Ever!"

"I know," Simon quickly looked to the ground. He'd seen enough things he'd never wanted to know about his dad when he'd rummaged through his head earlier. Things he'd said, things he'd done… bad things he'd never thought his dad could be capable of.

"Oh, dad," he suddenly remembered something else, something strange he'd learned tonight as well.

"Huh? What is it, champ?"

"How come I've never met Claire before? Is she really my sister?"

Nathan stared at his son in silence when he suddenly realized something. His son now knew everything about him! Every last detail, every dirty secret he'd ever had, everything he'd done…

God, Simon would never be able to look at him and not see all his failures.

Nathan paled visibly. Simon knew everything!

"Well, Nathan," Peter smirked at him and winked at Simon. "Looks like someone's got a lot of explaining to do, don't you think?"

Nathan only stared on in silence. Simon, suddenly noticing his father's discomfort, stood up and slung both arms around Nathan's midst. He leaned his head against the broad chest and then looked up into his dad's stunned face.

"I don't care about the bad things you did. You're my dad, no matter what."

Nathan slightly bent down and placed a soft kiss onto his son's head. He surely didn't deserve a second chance at life, nor with Heidi and the kids, not after everything he'd done. And yet… this small boy had just given it to him, in more ways than one.

And Nathan was determined to not screw it up again.

Ever.

* * *

**The End**

_I'm not really satisfied with this part at all. Somewhere along the way I forgot what I originally wanted to write. This story turned out completely different to what I had in mind but I had to post it before Monday because I know that once the new episode is aired everything's going down a different path and I wouldn't be able to finish this, ever. Sorry for the crappy ending and for not writing what I wanted to write._


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